


Growing Wings

by Ivorysilk



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Clint Barton, Kid Fic, Orphans, Past Child Abuse, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5741389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivorysilk/pseuds/Ivorysilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint’s growing up.  The unofficial  but not entirely unsanctioned sequel to <i>No Magic Would Save Me</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arsenicarcher (Arsenic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/gifts).
  * Inspired by [No Magic Would Save Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016722) by [arsenicarcher (Arsenic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/arsenicarcher). 



> Warning: References to sexual assault and violence against a minor. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or this universe. However, I am clearly not above using either of these for my own amusement. 
> 
> Feedback: Any comments, either positive or negative, will be very gratefully received.
> 
> Thanks:
> 
> Many thanks go to hoosierbitch, who encouraged and supported and read it over and fixed all my tenses. THANK YOU.
> 
> Kudos and thanks to ArsenicJade, who not only allowed me to play in her sandbox, but actively encouraged and supported me through it (and even, amazingly, sent me a line edit!). This is the first thing I’ve written and posted in well over a year, and I cannot thank her enough for allowing me to do it—I’ve missed writing, and had forgotten how much fun it can be.

*********************

The thing is, Clint got comfortable. He got comfortable, and that was his first mistake.

Stupid, too. He knew better, had learnt better. It had been beaten into him, early as he could remember, and so it was his own fault in the end, really.

**********************

Clint loved living with Pepper and Tony. He loved everything about it—he loved the stables, and he loved the horses, mechanical and animal. He loved the food Bruce made, and the fact that there was so much of it, and that he was always allowed to eat anything he liked. He liked his room, and he _loved_ Story.

He even loved that Pepper made him clean up his room when it got messy, or that Bruce didn’t let him eat dessert until he ate some vegetables—even though he really liked most of the vegetables Bruce made (except brussel sprouts. He didn’t like those). He liked learning words with Mr. Coulson, and liked taking a bath at night, and liked having to fold his laundry, because he had laundry—he had clothes, and Pepper made sure they were all clean and fit him well and didn’t have holes in them.

But he loved Tony and Pepper—Mama and Dad--most of all.

Two full years had passed since Clint had come to live in their house—Clint knew, because Mama let Dad take him to the workshop again and even if Dad made sure Dummy and You watched him all the time and he wasn’t allowed to touch anything or help, he loved just being there, being with Dad, watching him work, or sitting with him when he took a break to eat. 

Thing was, life at home was really comfortable. Thinking he was their kid, thinking they loved him, thinking this could be forever.

But nothing good ever lasts, and nothing comes for free. 

He really did know better. 

****************************

Just after Clint’s second birthday with them, Tony and Pepper asked if he’d like to go with them to what Tony called an exposition—a fair. Not the kind the circus sometimes went to—but kind of like that, too. 

“What do you say, kid?” asked Tony. “It’ll be a lot of fun, and you can see all the best toys in the world—I mean, not as good as mine, but still.”

Clint wasn’t sure. He liked it at home: home was safe, and the world outside was scary. He remembered what had happened last time he’d left the gates, so now he was really careful to make sure he was with someone if he left, to make sure that they knew he was going, to take Story with him if he had to go by himself. 

They’d talked about sending him away to school, Mama all for it, Dad less sure—but Mama usually got her way, Clint knew, and when they asked him, he agreed, because if they thought it was better, who was he to refuse? Especially because he was taller now, ate more, and—sometimes he broke things. And he’d gotten sick a lot, over the past year—Jane said it was years of—dep—depra—something, but she just meant because he hadn’t always had enough to eat before he’d come to live with them. They told him he’d love it—other boys, lots to do—but Clint wasn’t sure. Clint thought that maybe he’d be less trouble for them if he went away for a little while.

They’d talked about it, a bit, at the party they’d thrown him, too. 

Clint’s first birthday had been just family—Tony, Pepper, and just the people who lived in the mansion. Clint had still been recovering, at the time. It had been small, but _perfect_. Clint had never had a party before, not one he got to attend, anyway, and this one had been all for _him_ —there had been cake and balloons and Tony had brought in a whole menagerie of animals into the greenhouse just for Clint, including a huge cage of birds that you could walk inside. One of the birds had pooped on his head, and Clint had laughed and hadn’t even cared. Natasha had told him that where she came from, that meant good luck. And everyone had given him gifts—adventure books from Coulson, a box of chocolates with flavoured cream centers from Bruce, Steve had made him a book of paintings of different kinds of birds he’d seen on his travels, Tony and Pepper had given him shoes and clothes and a whole pile of toys. Jane and Thor had given him a pony—a pony!---and Natasha and Rhodey—

Natasha and Rhodey had given him a bow and arrow set. Just like Trickshot’s, back at the circus.

(Trickshot had let him use it, once or twice, but had grown angry when Clint’s aim—unpracticed, unlearnt—had been truer than his own. Clint hadn’t dared used it again.)

This bow was smaller, newer, made just for him, Natasha said: this one was all _his_. “Have you ever used one before?” Rhodey had asked. “Don’t worry if you haven’t—I’ll teach you.” 

Clint had just smiled.

His second birthday party had been a bit different. Pepper had invited other children and families from nearby to come, and there had been—there had been a lot of people there, a lot of people Tony and Pepper had introduced him to. Clint had to force himself not to hide, because—there were a lot of people to remember. He’d liked some of them—there was Pietro, who had teased Clint, because he ran really fast and won all the games--but also made sure to tell him what the best desserts were—Bruce had made a whole table of cakes. Pietro’s sister Wanda, who shared the last piece of blueberry pie with him. Sam had been the best though—he was pretty quiet, like Clint, but he was a year older and knew a lot about animals, especially birds. He told Clint all about them, and all about the school Pepper wanted to send him to. “Don’t worry about Pietro,” Sam had told him, “he’s always bragging and besides, being able to run fast isn’t everything. He means well, though.”

Sam wanted to study to be an animal doctor, he told Clint, and the only way to do that was to go to school and study for it. “What do you want to do?” asked Sam, looking at Clint.

“Do?” asked Clint. He—

“Afterwards. I mean, you can’t live at home forever, Clint.” Which Clint had always known.

“I wanted to show you the world, kid,” said Dad, shaking Clint out of his thoughts, “and this is kind of like the world all in one place, so before Pepp packs you off to school, let’s see what we can, huh?”

“Okay,” nodded Clint, because what else could he say? “Okay.”

The circus had travelled a lot, but taking a trip to someplace new and away from where you were living wasn’t a thing Clint had ever done before. Besides, at the circus, he didn’t really have any stuff, nothing that was his. But now he did, and also Jarvis gave him a bag, and explained what and how to pack it. He had to leave Story behind, but –

They got into the carriage the next morning, after an early breakfast, and taking with them a pile of sandwiches to eat on the way and things Dad needed and all of their bags and—

The carriage ride was fun, for the first little while, but then Clint got bored, and then he fell asleep. Mama woke him up just as they pulled up to the inn where they’d be staying the night, and Dad practically dragged Clint inside, helping him undress and then putting him into a little cot in their room.

The next day, they had breakfast and then went down to the grounds where the exhibition was held and--

Clint loved it. It was filled with people and things—like the circus, but even bigger, and everything everywhere was shiny and huge. There were games and rides, but instead of people and animals on display, it was machines, everywhere you could see. Tony dragged him from display to display, pointing out this and that, buying Clint popcorn and candied apples and shushing Pepper’s protests at the amount of junk food he was letting Clint eat. 

It was in the heart of the exhibition that they wandered into, after a bit. The Mechanic’s Hall, a big room in the central building of the fair grounds. Tony had some people to meet, he told Clint, and a lecture to give, so that’s where they—

“Tony!” called someone in a deep voice, before a large man strode over and wrapped Tony in a strong hug. 

Clint froze. He knew that voice, those hands, that scratchy grey beard covering a mouth that smelled like cigar smoke, that –

Clint didn’t move. Maybe, maybe no one would –

“Obie,” said Pepper warmly. “So good to see you. Did you like the last set of –“

“Perfect, as always, even if your prices are through the roof.”

“Quality costs, Obie,” cut in Tony, “I shouldn’t have to tell you that—“

“You have to stay competitive, you know I’ve tried to explain this to you--“

“They need my tech. They need what I make, and if they need it badly enough, they’ll pay. And they do. Besides, you get a generous bonus each time you sell out, even though my tech really does sell itself and why are we even discussing this?”

“I don’t—oh, look, what do we have here?” 

“Obie, this is Clint. Clint, Uncle Obie. Say hi, Clint.” 

Obie. Clint knew his name, now. 

“Clint?” repeated Tony, frowning. “Be polite, say hi, come on now.” He pulled Clint’s hand away from where it had been twisting in Tony’s pants, taking a step away from Clint where he’d quietly slunk back, trying to hide behind Tony. “He’s a bit shy,” said Tony, “but he’s a good kid, really.” 

“Hi there,” said Obie, smiling. It had been at least three years since Clint had seen him. His teeth were still stained yellower now, his hair receding. Obie held out a large hand. Clint remembered that hand, remembered how strong it had been, how unrelenting when he’d--

Clint forced himself to move, Tony giving him a small push from behind. He needed to do as he was told. He needed to— 

“Hi,” whispered Clint, finally, holding out his hand as well, pulling his hand back as soon as he could.

“Clint, huh. Well, then boy, come here where I can take a good look at you. You’ve turned into a handsome fellow, haven’t you. Looks like you’re growing like a weed, probably eating poor Pepper and Tony here out of house and home—“ 

“He’s fine,” said Tony. “Barely ate anything at all when we first got him. Bruce keeps trying new things, though, and I get to eat it all.”

“Well, you’re a good sized kid now, aren’t you, nice and sturdy—you were a bit of a runt, before, weren’t you? Probably a lot more fun now, too. Tony’s a lucky man.”

“Sure am,” agreed Tony, smiling. “It was Pepper that found monkey-boy, here, of course. Pepper always has the best ideas.”

“I do,” said Pepper, smiling back. “You should always listen to me.”

“Don’t I?” asked Tony, eyes wide. 

“No, Tony,” replied Pepper, laughing. “You most definitely do not.”

“Well,” said Tony, “fun as it’s been to have both of you gang up on me, I have to go and do this talk thing I’ve agreed to, Pepper won’t let me out of it, so I better—“

“Hey, Tony, mind if I steal the boy, here, for a bit?” asked Obie, also smiling.

“No, no, thanks Obie. Clint, go with Obie, he’ll take care of you. Off you go then, behave yourself. Pepper, coming?” and Tony wandered off, leaving Clint standing there, feeling frozen, watching Mama and Dad disappear through the crowds.

Clint knew that Natasha probably wasn’t far off. He knew that Steve, who had also come with them, was probably around too. He knew that all he needed to do was step away and then—

Obie’s large hand fell heavily onto his shoulder, fingers gripping hard. “Well, then, imagine running into you here, circus runt. They’ve even given you a name, now, aren’t we special. Turn around, boy,” said Obie, raising a firm eyebrow until Clint complied. “Let me get a good look at what’s on offer. What does Tony charge for you, nowadays?”

“I—I don’t know,” said Clint instead. “Sir.”

Clint wanted to say something. He wanted to say no, he wanted to ask why. He wanted to run after Dad and beg, to understand what he’d done wrong. It had been almost two years. They kept saying he didn’t have to—didn’t have to do anything, that he didn’t have to earn his keep—

But he was getting older, maybe. Dad was always replacing things, upgrading stuff—and they’d asked other kids to that party they’d thrown, lots of other kids. Lots of choice. Maybe two years was all he got before he got traded away, traded in for a better model. 

He’d been sick a lot, too, and Dad didn’t like things that got sick. Tony always got really upset whenever Clint was sick. Even though Clint tried to hide it. Especially when Clint tried to hide it. Mama always found him out, no matter how hard he tried. 

Jane told him it was normal, given his age and where he came from before. But it was still costly, Clint knew—medicines were expensive, he knew this, even if Mama told him not to worry about it--

“You were a bit too small for my liking, before, really,” said Obie. “It’s a wonder what a couple of years and a few meals can do. Carson was never really a good manager. Tony’s a bright boy. Surprised, though. He never seemed the type to get into the trade. Who else does he have?”

“I – I don’t think he has anyone else,” replied Clint. “Sir.”

“Well, now that I’ve got a good look at you, I’ll have you tonight, then. You cried a lot before, and I had to be too careful, Carson would black ball us for permanent damage. You look like you could take a lot more, now. “

“Yes, sir,” said Clint, because Obie was staring at him, a glint in his eyes that Clint recognized, that he’d learned to spot in men’s eyes, to avoid if he could. On the stage, Tony was walking towards the front, holding a megaphone, and everyone in the hall had turned away to watch; people were clapping. Tony was smiling, Pepper standing off to the side. 

No one was paying any attention to Clint. 

Clint wished, hard, that Story was with him. Even if there was nothing much Story could do. He wished he had Story.

“Well, let’s see what good you are now, come with me, then,” said Obie, dragging Clint away by one arm.

It took a minute or two before Clint found he could move his own legs, a minute or two until they were in front of a secluded office, off the main hall, in front of a locked door. It was a long way off from the exhibit hall; Clint could barely hear what should have been thunderous applause from the main area. Maybe it had been more than a minute. It had to have been more, but Clint couldn’t tell. His chest felt tight and he was having trouble breathing. He remembered Obie better, now—Obie had been one of his first. He was a large man and very strict—some of his customers, back then, at least when he’d first started, had been gentle, had been patient--but Obie had been neither of those things. On either occasion he’d paid for Clint.

Obie took a minute, fumbled for a key. Clint had a wild moment of hope—maybe, maybe he couldn’t find it, maybe this wouldn’t happen, maybe--

Obie pushed Clint inside the room, locking the door. “Take off your clothes,” said Obie. “Be quick. I’ve got to sort out the next quarter with Tony, and his talk will be over in a half hour. But don’t tear anything. If I know Pepper, and I do, she likes to dress you up, but she’ll have my head if I destroy an outfit she picked out.”

Clint was shaking. He was shaking and he couldn’t stop. 

“Hurry up, boy. If we’re late, it’ll be taken out of your hide later. Remember, Tony told you to behave, and I can’t imagine he’d tolerate disobedience.”

It was hard to force his hands to move the buttons—he was cold, his fingers numb, and he couldn’t force his hands to stop shaking, but he managed the first two, enough to allow him to pull the shirt over his head. His knickers were more difficult—he didn’t want, he-- 

“No,” said Clint suddenly, his voice seeming too loud, his pulse thrumming in his ears. “No,” he said again, “Mama—Pepper said I didn’t have to, she said I _never_ had to.“

They’d come for him, they _would_. They were good, they looked after him, told him he didn’t have to--

“Boy,” said Obie, “don’t be stupid, and stop making a fuss or I’m going to ask for a discount. Tony and I go way back, and he always gives me a generous bonus. Why do you think he brought you here? What else do you think you’re _for_?”

Thing is, Clint didn’t know. He was old enough, now, to know that everyone else in the house, Tony in particular, worked hard, and contributed a whole lot. Everyone had a job, even the mechanical creatures. 

Everyone except Clint. 

Clint tried—he worked in the stables and worked real hard at his lessons and sometimes even tried to help Bruce in the kitchen—but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make up for the cost of his lessons or the medicines he’d used or the space he took or the food he ate, every day. Whenever he’d tried to ask, though, he’d either chicken out or ask the wrong question, and it would make whoever he was asking angry or sad or dismissive. 

Clint wished he knew. He wished for a lot of things. But no one was coming.

Clint pushed his knickers down and closed his eyes. He kept them closed, shuddering as he heard Obie come forward, come closer, close enough to touch--smoke and sweat and a cloying sweet smell over his skin that Clint knew was cologne, but not the good kind like Tony wore that just smelled like home. He felt a foot kicking his legs apart, harsh hands on his arms, his chest, and—and lower down, squeezing and pinching and – and _hurting_ \--

Clint thought of Story’s rumble-purr, of Soteria’s soft nose; he thought of Bruce’s warm buttered bread and Thor’s rumbling laugh. He thought and thought of anything but where he was, what was happening now. He’d got a lot better things to think about now, he was at least grateful for that: he knew it would work better now, if he could just focus and not think about –

Obie’s booming voice, with its undertone of dark excitement, cut through his thoughts. “You’ll do. You’ll do nicely, all pale and unmarked as you are—hold still, come on--just like the first time I saw you. Carson had wrecked you within a year, but Tony’s done a nice job of investing in you—bit of meat on your bones, now, but still pretty tender, just the way I like. So, after dinner, I think—no time now, I’ve got to settle things up with Tony, but we’re gonna have a real good time together. So come on, let’s get you dressed back up,” Obie was pulling Clint’s shirt over his head, doing up the buttons, while Clint shivered and his mind spun—“let’s go, like I said, business before pleasure and I don’t want to be late, Tony is brilliant but distracted at the best of times.”

Clint didn’t remember the way back to the main hall, where the lights now were too bright and the noise too loud; where everything was overwhelming and he just wanted to know why, why, why—

“Ha! Did you see that asswipe Hammer suggest that my tech was—Oh, hey, monkey-boy, what did you two get up to? Obie, what did you think, did you like the speech?” Tony was in front of them, again, speaking quickly, clever hands gesticulating wildly, and Clint wanted to do nothing more than run up to him, hide his face in Tony’s shirt, and beg—

Obie’s fingers on his arm tightened, holding Clint in place. Keeping him away from Tony. “I took the boy, here, out to the back, so I missed it,” Obie was saying, “I’m sure you can give me the condensed version, Tony, because we do have a number of things to settle—“

“Tony,” said Natasha sharply, appearing as if from nowhere. “Clint does not look well.”

Pepper immediately dropped to her knees beside him. “Darling, are you not feeling well? Do you need to lie down?” Her hand on his forehead was so gentle, and she smelled like flowers and baking and everything good in the world. Obie’s grip on Clint’s arm dropped away.

“No, I’m fine,” said Clint, blinking. The world was spinning, and he just wanted to cry, and beg, and tell them he’d try harder—he’d do anything, anything they wanted if only--

“I’m fine,” he repeated, and took a step away. 

********************

They left the exhibition grounds anyway, Tony telling Obie to come by later and they’d settle up then. Clint wanted to speak up, because it was better to get things over and done with—he couldn’t—

But the words got tangled on his tongue, stuck in his throat, and so he didn’t say anything at all.

He was thankful, he _was_ , that he’d had his two years, he thought that was more than most people got, more than he’d ever deserved. But it still hurt. It still hurt when he’d started believing he’d get to _keep_ this, when he hadn’t even had the chance to say good-bye properly and he—

He was scared. He remembered, when he’d been in the circus, that most of the—most of the customers hadn’t been too bad. Obie was right—he’d been pretty little, and most of the men had been afraid to do anything that would hurt him too badly. There had been older kids for that. The ones that bought Clint, most of them had just wanted to touch, wanted—wanted Clint’s mouth and that had been—that hadn’t been good, but the others, the others like Obie—

He’d ended up crawling into the stalls with the horses, after that first time with Obie. Partly because he’d been shivering hard, and he’d known it would be warm. There were blankets for the horses and he could usually find an extra one. Plus, the hay absorbed the blood so he didn’t make a mess of anything. But mostly—mostly he couldn’t think past that it would be warm, warm and the assistant horse trainer, Lexie, liked him, so she wouldn’t kick him out, and he wanted to be near the horses. 

That night, Lexie had taken one look at him and before he’d blinked, she was scolding Barney—Barney, who wasn’t much older than Clint, but who’d been kind of in charge of Clint when he was little, and the closest thing to a father or brother he’d ever had. Barney came and put his arms around Clint as he shivered, because he couldn’t seem to get warm—even though it was warm, Clint knew it was warm, just like it was tonight.

“Little idiot,” Barney had said, his tone gentle, his arms warm, “I told you they only keep us if we’re worth it. We’ve gotta be worth it to them, Clint. We’ve gotta do whatever it is to make it worth it to them for us to keep. You can do that, can’t you? Just for a while, I’ll convince them--”

Clint barely remembered those nights, had tried to block them out. He also knew that he’d lived through them, once. He knew that meant he could do it again. Knew that lots of other kids lived through nights just like those. But he honestly didn’t know if he could, again. Not again, and not now. Not every night. 

Back then, nights that bad had been rare. If he got sold to Obie … nights like that wouldn’t be rare.

But he didn’t have many alternatives, and it wasn’t like anyone was asking him. If his dad wanted him to—if Tony—

If this was what he was supposed to do, how could he refuse?

Mama—Pepper—kept asking if he felt okay, because he couldn’t manage anything at dinner, couldn’t even manage enough to pretend like he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he was, he knew this might be his last meal with them, and it looked delicious— the posting inn they were staying at had clearly brought out their best dishes, placing them all—Tony, Pepper, Clint, Steve and Natasha--in a private dining room, waited on by a team of smartly dressed waiters. 

Everything Tony and Pepper had ever fed him had been delicious. He didn’t know if he’d ever get to eat like this again. 

“Obie’s dropping by after dinner,” said Tony, “and—hey, hey, whoa there little man,” he exclaimed when Clint gagged, “Pepper, maybe we should—“

“Clint, Clint, are you feeling worse? Clint?” Pepper, her eyes on his filled with caring and concern.

“I’m fine, miss,” said Clint. “Just need a little water.” Clint grabbed his mug, forced himself to drink two gulps of water, forced himself to calm enough that his stomach would settle.

Tony frowned.

“It’s late; maybe you should go on up to bed, Clint,” said Steve. “Obie is coming by to talk about the deal with Tony, but it shouldn’t take long—well, Pepper will  
make the deal, but usually, people talk to Tony about what they want, first. It’s not a very interesting discussion anyway.”

“I think so,” said Tony mildly, looking somewhat offended at Steve’s words, but not disagreeing. “Clint, why don’t you go up with Tasha; Steve, Pepper and I are going to talk business for a while until Obie gets here.”

“Sir?” said a waiter. “There’s a gentleman here to see you.”

Clint went quickly to stand beside Natasha, who turned to silently go up the stairs. Tony wasn’t even paying attention. With any luck, they’d take him while he was asleep, and he’d never even know the difference.

***************************

“Thank you, miss,” said Clint to Natasha’s back, as he followed her silent steps down the hall. “Thank you for everything.”

“For putting you to bed? It is no trouble, _sokolik_ ,” she replied swiftly, before Clint could say anything else. “Tell me, how did you like the exhibition?” asked Natasha, as she took him upstairs to where he was staying. Clint had stayed in Tony and Pepper’s room last night, but had his own room also, adjacent to Pepper and Tony’s, with a connecting door. He was supposed to knock and get permission before entering, but if he really needed them, they said it was ok to go right in. They’d left it unlocked for a reason.

“It was very interesting,” said Clint. “Tony showed me all around the newest gadgets, and I got iced cream, which tasted like snowflakes, and –“

“And Obadiah Stane? What did he show you?” cut in Natasha, absently, like she didn’t care.

“He—he didn’t show me anything, Miss Tasha. He—some of the back offices?”

“Really,” said Natasha, pulling down the sheets on his bed and handing him his pyjamas. “I thought those were locked.”

“He had a key,” said Clint, “I’m pretty sure he was allowed there. Besides, Da—Tony said I should go with him and be good. I was, miss. I promise.”

“Indeed,” said Natasha. “So, what did you do back there?”

“Nothing, miss! I swear. Mr. Stane,” Clint tripped over the name, but he couldn’t call the man Uncle Obie like Tony had suggested, he just _couldn’t_ , “he just—I think he just wanted to—you know, inspect me. Before, I guess, he talked with Tony.”

“I see, “ said Natasha. “And why should he want to do that?”

“I’m – I’m older now,” said Clint. “I’m—sometimes, boys aren’t worth as much when they get older, so I think he just wanted to know that I’d be worth something.” 

“Did he now,” said Natasha, and her voice was silky smooth, exactly like it sounded when she was really angry. “You know, _sokolik_ , I think we should go back downstairs. I don’t like the idea of leaving you up here alone, and Tony’s going to want his braces. Let’s get them for him, shall we? No, don’t change yet, but don’t worry—this won’t take long.”

****************************

“Tony,” said Natasha, Clint in tow. “You’re going to want these.” She tossed the braces over to Tony, who caught them one handed, but looked baffled before putting them down on a side table.

“Okay?” said Tony, questioningly, raising an eyebrow at Natasha. “Want to tell me why?”

“Why don’t you ask Stane there what he and Clint did while you were lecturing?” Natasha seemed just as angry as she had up in Clint’s room. Clint tried to focus on being quiet and unseen.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What did you and monkey-boy here do while I was lecturing?” Tony inquired patiently, turning back to Obie. 

“Do?” asked Obie, as if he found the question terribly amusing. “You want details?”

“Sure. “ Tony looked at Natasha, looked at Clint, and then looked back at Obie. Clint wanted to sink through the floor. This wasn’t—this wasn’t—he didn’t want to be here to discuss this, he didn’t—he just wanted to go to sleep, believing he had a family, believing he was going to wake up tomorrow to go home, believing he’d get to have this just a little while longer. “Thing is, Obie,” said Tony very slowly, with an air of realization, “that Clint was fine before hand—excited to be at the fair, excited and happy—and when I came back, he wasn’t.”

“I didn’t do anything!” exclaimed Obie, as if what Tony was asking was ridiculous and funny. “Tony, you can, come on, you can trust me, I wouldn’t, not until the deal was made!”

Tony was frowning now, and everyone else in the room—Steve, Natasha, Pepper, had fallen silent. Clint just wished he could disappear. “While I fail to see how the deal has any impact whatsoever on my question, I repeat: What did you do?”

“Nothing, I swear. I just had a look, so I’d know what was on offer, that’s all. Just looking, a little handling, no sampling. Scout’s honour.”

“You were never a Boy Scout, Obie,“ said Tony.

“I’m actually training to be a Scout Leader, Tony, they’re a fine organization, you should too—“

“Are you seriously proposing to lead young men?” interrupted Tony abruptly. “And back to the question at hand: what exactly did you take a look at with Clint?” Tony didn’t know, Clint was starting to realize. His dad just didn’t understand that the thing that Obie had been looking at was _him_.

“Honestly Tony. I just had him undress. Took a look, handled him a bit, just to see what I was getting. I didn’t damage his clothes, or anything. I just—look, I thought that’s why you sent him with me, so I could take a look at my bonus. You always sweeten the deal, and I thought this year, you were trying something new. I figured that’s why you’d bought the boy—that is why, wasn’t it? For your contractors and your customers? Carson rented him out cheap, back then, because he was sweet, but pretty scrawny and he cried a lot, as I recall, but clearly, you saw potential in him that I—“

“Get out,” said Tony, calmly putting on the braces. But his voice wasn’t calm. If anything, it was angrier than Natasha’s.

“What?” Obie was laughing now. “Tony, you can’t be—“

“Leave. Now. Before I have you thrown out. Before Natasha doesn’t stop me from doing worse.” Tony’s voice was measured and even and dangerous.

“I wouldn’t,” put in Natasha, her voice like ice. “Stop you.”

“Now, wait a minute—“ said Obie, his eyes narrowing. “It was an honest mistake, anyone would have—“

“You – you bastard—for the record, I knew you were taking a cut, and for the sake of our friendship and my father, I let it go, but this—seriously, you need to leave.” The braces on Tony’s arms were glowing.

“Come on now, Tony, in fairness, I thought that’s what you bought him for, how was I to know otherwise? You dress him up and bring him here, like—

“That’s my son,” snarled Tony. “His name is Clint, and he is my _son_ , and I’m going to make damned sure that you’ll never come near him—or any kid—again.”

********************

In the end, Natasha took care of things. After all, said Pepper, it was what they paid her for. 

“I don’t care how you do it,” said Tony. “Just don’t tell me about it, and just make sure he can’t come near us again.”

“Understood,” said Natasha, nodding. “Anything I’d like?” Tony spared a glance at Steve, but Steve—who was normally the kindest person Clint knew—looked murderous. 

“Whatever you’d like,” repeated Tony.

Natasha smiled. Her smile was not nice. It was scary, scarier than Lyndon’s had been. Clint looked away. “Good talk,” said Natasha, nodding as she drifted out of the room.

“We’re not staying here,” said Pepper, in the silence that followed, her eyes full of tears, now that Clint was looking. “I don’t care how long it takes, or how late it is-we’re going home, Tony, right now. I’m—I’m not staying here, and neither is Clint. He needs to be home.”

“Okay,” said Steve, then, when Tony made no move to reply, now looking a bit sick, a bit lost. “Okay.”

***********************************************

The ride back was very quiet. Steve drove the carriage, while Tony sat beside him. Pepper and Clint sat inside the carriage, not looking at each other. Pepper was sitting very still, and she looked like she was fighting tears. Clint was—if there was a place he could hide, he would have; for now, he just tried not to get in the way. He’d caused a lot of trouble already, clearly. He hadn’t wanted to, he’d tried not to, but he had. 

His first time outside of the manor, and he’d destroyed it. He’d destroyed it, and now—now they really wouldn’t want him anymore. He’d been lucky they ever had.

“Clint,” said Pepper. “I know—I know you’re probably very upset with us right now—“

“No!” said Clint, horrified; why would he be? 

“—and you have every right to be, but – would you mind sitting beside me? And letting me hug you?”

“Would that—“ Clint bit his lip, and tried again. “That would be okay?”

“It’s up to you,” said Pepper, “but I’d like it very much.”

Clint didn’t remember flinging himself across the carriage at her, and he was too big, he knew, for this kind of thing. But once he was holding on to Mama, he couldn’t seem to let go. 

That was all right, though, because she was kissing him and whispering softly to him. Clint couldn’t make out the words, but he knew they didn’t matter. 

Because she didn’t seem to want to let go, either.

**************************

When they got home, and before Clint could go up to bed—he _really_ missed Story, and he was _very_ tired (the sun had come up before they even reached the mansion gates)—Jane stopped him. She looked like she had been waiting for them: her eyes were tired, but she smiled when she saw Clint.

“Clint,” said Jane, and her voice was gentle, very gentle, so gentle Clint wanted to cry and tell her she didn’t need to use that voice, didn’t need to do anything, please. They could just forget anything had ever happened and he could just go upstairs to his room, Story was waiting for him, _please_ , he wanted to beg—

“I have to examine you, make sure you’re really ok. Is that all right?”

“I’m fine, Dr. Jane, really I am,” said Clint desperately, because it was not all right, it really wasn’t. Everyone looked so worried, so anxious, and he just wanted this to be over, wanted to go upstairs and see Story and go to bed. He wanted that very badly.

“I know you are, Clint, but I need to make sure. Did Mr. Stane hurt you?”

Clint remembered--he remembered—

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Opened his eyes again and said, “No.”

“Monkey-boy,” said Tony, and then he crouched down so he was right in front of Clint, filling Clint’s vision, “Monkey-boy, I know this is hard, and I know you don’t want to do this, but I need you to be honest, here. I need you to tell Jane exactly what”—and here, Tony clenched his teeth for a second, looking away—“exactly what happened when you were with Stane.” Tony spat the name, but he took Clint’s hands in a grip that was warm and reassuring and safe. 

Clint didn’t know how to explain. He didn’t know how to say that nothing had happened, that anything that had happened had occurred years ago. “I – not in front of everyone, okay, okay, please, I don’t—“

“All right, that’s fine, I’ll just”—Tony moved to get up, and Clint cried out. “No! No, no, stay, please, you, just you, please—“

“Shhh, I’m right here, Clint, I’m not going anywhere, okay? All right?” Tony waited a minute, while everyone else but he and Jane had left the room. He pulled out a char, and let Clint sit in it, crouching down again so he was in front of Clint, his hands still holding Clint’s in his. “Now, now then, what happened yesterday. You have to tell us, son.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Clint, because it really hadn’t been. Not yesterday, anyway. Tony made an awful noise, though, and Clint looked up, but Tony’s eyes were just sad and worried, like they’d been ever since he’d realized why Obie thought he’d brought Clint to the exhibition. Tony looked tired, and he looked old, and Clint hated that it was because of him. “I—he just, he made me undress, and then he touched me all over, and just—I guess he wanted to make sure I wasn’t damaged.“

Tony made another noise, and when he looked up, he saw Jane whack Tony on the head, but her voice was steady and her smile soft as she looked at Clint. Clint turned his eyes back to Tony before looking down at the ground near Tony’s shoe.

“Okay, Clint,” said Jane. “Did he put his fingers inside you?”

“Yes,” whispered Clint, filled with shame.

“How many?” asked Jane, her voice even. Clint swallowed, kept his eyes on the ground. 

“Just one,” said Clint. Tony’s hands tightened on his, just for a second.

“Okay, Clint, can I take a look, I just want—“

“No!” cried Clint, sitting up straight, tugging his hands out of Tony’s, “please, please don’t, I’ll, I’ll be really good—

“Hey!” said Tony, still gripping Clint’s hands, holding him in place but not hurting him, not even a little. “Hey, hey, monkey boy, you are good, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing at all, don’t you even start for a second. You’re perfect. You’re perfect okay? Jane just wants to make sure you’re not hurt, that’s _all_.”

Clint was crying now. “I’m okay, I’m fine, I promise, please, please don’t make me—“ 

“Okay, Clint? Clint, you need to breathe, all right Clint, honey, please just breathe.” Jane’s voice, soft and calm and reassuring. “It’s okay, no one here is going to hurt you or make you do anything you don’t want to do, all right?” Clint saw her looking at Tony, and Tony looking back, and then she turned her gaze back to Clint. “Let’s make a deal, okay?”

“Okay?” said Clint, once he was able to speak again.

“I’m going to trust you, Clint, and you need to trust me. I’m going to let you go upstairs now, and Tony is going to give you a nice warm bath and put you to bed. But I need you to answer a few questions first.”

Clint nodded warily, when they both just looked at him. 

“Does anything hurt?”

“No,” said Clint immediately.

“Think about it,” said Jane, but there was no hint of reproach in her voice. “Anything sore? “

“I’m a bit sore,” said Clint, after a second and a nod from Tony. He was, but they’d put a soft pillow on his chair, and he was trying not to think about it.

“Okay, but that’s all, is that right? Just a bit sore?” Jane asked again, and Clint wished he was somewhere else, but Tony squeezed his hand again, and there were tears in his eyes, and Clint hated that he’d done that to Tony, so he answered the question.

“Yes,” whispered Clint.

“Have you seen any blood?” asked Jane. “Is anything bleeding?”

“No,” said Clint, shaking his head. No, and it was the truth, he hadn’t done anything bad enough to cause bleeding, nothing like—

“No bleeding,” said Clint, his voice a breath of sound. 

“You’ll tell me or Tony or one of the others if there is any blood, at once? Do you agree?” Jane was implacable, but Clint didn’t—he couldn’t, he couldn’t anymore--

“You have to give your solemn oath, monkey boy,” said Tony, drawing his attention, trying to smile at him. “Okay? Can you do that for me?”

Clint let himself fall forward, fall into Tony, felt Tony’s arms go around him at once, breathed in Tony’s cologne, his odd kerosene-ash smell underneath, and nodded against Tony’s neck. “Yes. Yes, please, I promise, but I want to go now,” said Clint. “Please, Dad--”

He was a big boy now, too old, certainly to be coddled or held, but Tony picked him up like he weighed nothing, holding him close, his lips on Clint’s forehead. 

“You’re safe now,” said Tony. “You’re mine, and you’re home, and you’re safe. You have my solemn oath, Clint. My solemn oath, now and forever.”

************************

Over the next few weeks, Clint was never alone. Someone was with him all the time, even when he slept. Natasha even hired someone—a man, Bucky, with dark hair and blue eyes, who was from the same faraway land as Natasha had once come from. Tony told him that Bucky was good friends with Steve, and that Bucky’s only job was to make sure Clint was safe.

“But I’m at home,” said Clint. “With you.” Tony had hired lots of people in the last few days—people that never came near Clint, but that were making the wall around the mansion higher, more secure; people that were building what Tony called “security features” and that were charting every inch of Tony’s lands around the house and scouting every inch of the property line.

“I know, “said Tony, “but indulge your old man, will you?”

Clint just shrugged, because he didn’t mean—hadn’t meant—to cause such a fuss, but he also couldn’t lie to himself. It helped. His nightmares were back, every time he closed his eyes—they’d been gone, for a while, but they were back, and they were worse than ever. He couldn’t always wake up anymore, either, before he started screaming.

And that would have to stop, Clint knew, if he was going to go away to school.

He’d brought it up, once, after they’d come back, and Tony had told him not to worry about it, he wasn’t letting Clint out of his sight. Pepper, meanwhile, had said they could talk about it later. And Clint—

Thing was, he hadn’t been sure, before, that he’d want to go. But he’d been corresponding with Sam—Sam lived too far away to visit regularly, Pepper had said—and he kind of looked forward to seeing Sam again. 

The school had an archery program, Steve had told him, once. Best in the country. He thought Clint might enjoy it.

He’d been having long walks with Bucky, too—Bucky was quiet, didn’t say much, but he had a soft drawl and while he teased everyone, especially Uncle Steve—he also _understood_ things in a way no one else did. 

Bucky had told him, some stuff, that made Clint think that he and Bucky might not be that dissimilar, in some ways. Stuff that explained _why_ Bucky understood. “You’ve gotta decide, Clint,” Bucky had told him. “You gotta decide what you want, and how you want to get there. Everyone here will help you, you know they will—but you gotta decide how and if you want to get there. You gotta know that you’re worth way more than the men that sold you ever thought you were.”

Bucky had helped other kids like Clint, Uncle Steve told him—kids with nightmares, kids that hadn’t had it so good. That’s what he’d been doing, before he came to live at the Mansion. He was really good at fighting, too: he’d once been trained as a fighter, way back when. That’s where they’d met, explained Uncle Steve—when they were kids, in a war, during training. 

But fighting wasn’t what Uncle Steve had wanted to do anymore, and according to Uncle Steve, Bucky had decided it wasn’t what he wanted to do, either.

Bruce had taken him, a week ago, to visit Wanda and Pietro again, because Bruce had been going to see their cook, Betty, who he was friends with. Wanda and Pietro had been nice to him, and had shared their cupcakes with him—Pietro said he also went to the same school Sam went to; that he liked it. Said he’d look for Clint, if Clint came. Told Clint he ran track, but he’d bet Clint would be a shoe-in for the archery team.

Clint kind of liked the sound of that—liked the idea of being on a team, of competing, of learning new ideas and skills. 

Clint didn’t like the idea of leaving home, but—he kind of liked the idea of going to school, too.

Mama, Dad, Bruce, Bucky, Uncle Steve, even Natasha—they’d been telling him, all of them, that he was loved, and safe and—and that he could ask for things. Things that he wanted.

Clint thought that this might be a thing he wanted.

**********************

“So, here we are, then, you’ll be okay, right?” Mama looked scared, worried, like she’d take him back home if he asked. She probably would, Clint knew. Dad had been offering, in fact, the entire trip there; pulled him aside and said he didn’t have to go, he could still change his mind, he had to just say the word--before offering to send Natasha or Bucky with him, whatever the school said. He knew that Dad had actually planned to send one of them, too, until the school had written back and said no, had said it wasn’t allowed. Bucky had taken him upstairs when Dad had started reading (and then swearing under his breath), saying that his father needed to have a temper tantrum, and it was better that he was alone for that.

Bruce had packed all his favourite snacks, wrapped them up for him to eat his first week, so he didn’t get too skinny while he was being homesick, so he at least had food he liked. Jane had knitted him a blanket. Steve had given him drawings of Dad and Mama to keep with him, and Dad had given him a picture of all of them, all in faded brown and on special paper that recorded images. Dad had called it a photograph. Told Clint he could keep it with him, to remind him of home.

The home that was waiting for him, whenever he wanted it. The family that would welcome him, whenever he needed them.

“So you don’t forget us,” Dad had said, like he was joking, but like he was also scared Clint would. Clint had hugged Dad, then, and reminded Dad not to forget to come get him at the break. 

Clint wasn’t sure his dad was going to wait for the break.

Clint looked at the brick and ivy covered buildings, the boys running and jumping across the grassy field in front. He thought of what Coulson had told him: that he’s well prepared, that he had learnt all Coulson had to teach him. He thought of the world beyond the mansion gates, and of Steve’s stories: how he’d told him the world wasn’t to fear, that it was filled with wonderful things. He thought of Bruce, who’d explained that it might be hard, but that hiding wasn’t what life was about.

He thought of all the things out there, the things they’d told him were just waiting for him to discover. 

(Once upon a time, Clint been terrified of ever leaving the circus.)

He opened the door of the carriage, and blinked into the warm sunshine, the sound of boys’ laughter on the breeze.

“Yes,” he smiled, hefting his duffle and gripping his bow. “I’m ready.”

**************************

 _The End!_ Thank you for reading! If you are so inclined, please feel free to let me know what you thought!


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